


(hamilton is) on the other side

by orphan_account



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 3rd person, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, BUT THEY'RE HIGH QUALITY, F/M, John seems to think so, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Present Tense, Reunion, Short Chapters, because I'm lazy, but im agnostic so this isn't biblical or anything, did i mention lams, heaven?, i hecking love lams, idk - Freeform, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Philip’s expression changes rapidly from daze to awe, “That was awesome! Lee totally deserved it!” Laurens laughed. “What?” Philip raises an eyebrow, “Did I say something wrong?”</p><p>“You remind me of your father,” Laurens admits, “Bolder, though,”</p><p>(or The One Where Everyone Gets To Live Happily Ever After)<br/>~very short chapters, but they're really well written (compared to my other stuff)~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. philip never hurt a soul

**Author's Note:**

> sin™  
> please bear with me and my ~500 chapters

_ ~~~1801~~~ _

 

Philip opens his eyes. He doesn’t recall much of the previous events. His last memory is that of laying on a bed in the hospital, his mother singing to him. He must’ve fallen asleep after that. Why would he be here of all places?

 

Speaking of that, where is he? He seems to be in a large building, a cathedral of some sorts. Pearly white marble and ornate stained glass windows seem to stretch on for miles. Scattered throughout are people. They all seem to be minding their own business, some are talking, some are sitting on benches, others are admiring the windows. The echo of a thousand conversations rings throughout the room. There is so much to take in, he nearly ignores someone tap his shoulder. Philip sharply turns around to find a man dressed in a soldier’s uniform, who happens to an uncanny resemblance to himself.

 

“Who are you?” Philip asks, “Where are we?”

 

“I’m John Laurens,” the man, now identified, responds. Weird, the name sounds oddly familiar to him. “We’re in heaven.”

 

Philip sighs, “I know, it’s great.” He hopes Laurens knows it’s a joke, “Seriously, where are we?”

 

“In denial are we?” Laurens chuckles. “I’m sorry, but you died.”

 

This shouldn’t have been a shock for him. He’d been shot. He didn’t get medical attention in time. He died. More memories of his last few moments alive flooded him. His father, in utter regret and despair. His mother, torn between rage and heartbreak. He couldn’t have done that to them. It wasn’t real.

 

“No,” Philip exhales. “I didn’t- I can’t- I’m only 19!”

 

“And I was 27,” Laurens sighs, “I left him with so much work to do.” That last part is under his breath. Philip doesn’t notice.

 

“ I was going to run Manhattan!” He insisted.

 

“Ambitious, are we?” Laurens asks. He’s curious. Mainly as to why this young boy is dead. He’s healthy, no doubt about it, by the looks of his clothes he comes from a good family, and there haven’t been any wars flooding the atrium with soldiers.

 

“Eh, it’s more my dad speaking,” he admits. Laurens understands, his father pushed him, and Philip is more than old enough to have a father who fought in the revolution and gained some power, “I wanted to be a soldier.”

 

Laurens raises an eyebrow, “There’s not another war, is there?”

 

“No,” Philip responds, “But there’s plenty to do with the Navy and Militia. I just want to be like my father,”

 

“I see,” Laurens muses, “did he fight in the revolution?” Philip was certainly old, or in this case, young, enough.

 

“Yes,” Philip boasts, “Major General, Alexander Hamilton,”

 

Laurens is in visible shock, which he attempts to cover up with a cough, “Did you say Hamilton?”

 

“Yes,” Philip responds, amused by the flushed expression on Laurens’ face, “Did you know him,”

 

“We were quite close,” Laurens says,  _ you don’t know the half of it _ , he thinks. 

 

“Did you duel someone?” Philip asks, “I think father has mentioned you,” Laurens is surprised, he didn’t expect Alex to raise his kids like that.

 

“Charles Lee,” Laurens recalls, “not my finest moment,”   
  


Philip’s expression changes rapidly from daze to awe, “That was awesome! Lee totally deserved it!” Laurens laughed. “What?” Philip raises an eyebrow, “Did I say something wrong?”

 

“You remind me of your father,” Laurens admits, “Bolder though,”


	2. it feels more like a memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "washington was right, dying is easy."

_ ~~~1804~~~ _

 

After thirty two hours of agony, Alexander accepts death. He lets the sensation of dying fall over him. It doesn’t feel excruciating, or harrowing, or anything like he expects it would be. It just feels empty. After nearly fifty years of continuous action, he’d finally stopped.

 

And then he wakes up.

 

He’s surprised by that, and he suspects that he’s slept for nearly 24 hours. That would be enough for any rational person, but for Alex it wasn’t enough.

 

Nothing was ever enough for Alex.

 

Then he remembers  _ I’m dead _ . He’d had all these preconceived ideas of what heaven would be like for him  _ or if he would even make it, _ he thinks, remembering Laurens. Surely Laurens would be here. And Phillip. And Washington.

  
“Hello,” a young woman greets him tapping his shoulder. He instantly recognizes her. The long long caramel hair, her short stature (only 4’9”), the deep brown doe eyes he’d inherited from her.

 

_ And my mom _ , he adds silently.

 

“H-h-hi,” he manages to respond, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he feels tears running down his face, but for the first time in what seems like an eternity to him, they’re tears of joy. He feels like a child again, when his worst worries were getting lost in the village, or the beach where he and James used to play.

 

“I missed you,” she smiles. The same smile she’d give him when he told her that he made a new friend, or even longer ago when his father could make her smile. Then she pulls him in for a hug.

 

“I’m so-” He cuts himself off. What  _ is  _ he feeling? Happy, relieved, nervous? “I missed you too,” he decides.

 

“I should hope,” Rachel jokes. She slowly pulls out of the hug. “I’ve heard the about what you’ve done. It’s so amazing, I’m so proud,” she trails off, “your father is too,”

 

“My dad?” Alexander responds, raising an eyebrow. “As in James Sr.?” Half of him was surprised his father even made it to heaven.

 

“He’s been bragging about you for years,” she sighs. Alexander feels a pang in his chest. Of course his father was acting like he played such a huge role in his success. 

 

“The only contribution he ever made was driving me to leave the damn island.” Alexander jokes, and Rachel laughs.

  
“That may be true-- that reminds me, I have to find Philip, I told him I’d help him find you as soon as possible.” As per the past few years, Alexander tenses up at the mention of his eldest (and frankly, favorite) son. That is, until Alexander remembers that he will be able to see him again. 

 

“He’s great isn’t he,” Alexander beamed, feeling a similar emotion to that of when his son was born.

  
“He is,” Rachel agrees, nodding her head, “though he has told me some  _interesting_  stories,"

_Please not Laurens. _Please not Laurens._ _Please not Laurens.__

 

"About a man named John Laurens," she finishes.

__

"Let's go see Philip," Alexander diverts her. She happily obliges, with a knowing smile. She leads him through the long, intertwining corridors. She seems to know the place by heart. She probably does, having been here for nearly 40 years. Eventually they reach a hall marked with inscriptions that seem too worn down to be practical. Three doors down and a turn to the left later, he reaches a room marked "P. Hamilton," she gestures for Alexander to knock.

  
Three knocks and a little bit of yelling later, Phillip opens the door, not believing his eyes. "Pops?" He pulls in Alex for a hug. After taking in the reality of the situation, he slowly lets go. "This is fucked up,"  


 

"Language!" Alexander scolds out of habit.

 

"You look my age!" Philip complained. "But you're probably like 80!"

 

"I'm only 47," he replies. It had been 3 years. "I died in a duel, same as you," he confesses.

 

"You did  _what?_ " Rachel finally interrupts. He ignores her.

 

"Jefferson?" Philip asks, not at all surprised by Alexander's behavior.

 

"Burr," he corrects. 

 

"I see, he here too?" Philip finally plops himself down on a yellow couch in the room near the entrance.

 

"Unfortunately, no," he replies. "I threw away my shot,"

 

"Didn't learn from me?" Philip is only half joking.

 

"Nope," Alexander sighs.

 

"You dueled  _Aaron Burr_ ," Rachel attempts to clarify, "weren't you friends?"'

 

At this, Philip bursts out, laughing. "Political rivals," Alexander answers, "turned personal rivals."

"So you he killed you?" She raises an eyebrow, as if to say "what did you do?".

 

"Pretty mu-"

 

Alexander is cut off by the door flying open. He lets his jaw unhinge from his skull, because standing there is John Laurens.

  
"So I heard Alex is back-" he begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its a month late oooPPS

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this! please leave kudos or a comment because i thrive off of attention  
> chapter two on wednesday? maybe?


End file.
